I wanted to run my new philosophy of life by you, get some feedback. My buddy Dan and I came up with it on Tuesday evening. To wit:

"Whatever doesn't kill you only weakens you, until the next thing comes along and kills you."

Whaddaya think?

Sincerely,

J. Chip

Hey J. Chip.

I like your new philosophy of life.

Let's move forward, though. If we're really going to start a New Philosophy of Life, I think we need more than one idea. I mean, sure, people have started a NPoL with less, but we don't want to be like the Smurfs or those people who dress up and sing along with the midnight showing of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." When our first idea starts to wear thin and our society begins to rip apart at the seams, we're going to need more ideas to patch it all together and keep people from jumping on the next Hot 'n' Sour Soup For The Soul wagon that rolls through town.

Monday, February 09, 2004

RESISTANT STRAINS

I get about 10 unwanted virus-related emails per hour, but I keep my head held high, because I've got mango mochi balls in my freezer. You may not know this, but mango mochi balls are one of the purest joys afforded to man. Unfortunately, describing them as mango ice cream surrounded by rice dough doesn't really do them justice.

So come with me on a magical journey instead. Imagine that there's a variety of white mongoose that lives in a far-away, snowy land. Imagine this little mongoose eats nothing but mangoes. The snowy mongoose's fridge is full of mangoes, shipped to his snowy address from Tahiti. Every day as the white mongoose eats his breakfast of mangoes in mango sauce, he dreams of warm ocean breezes blowing across the white sands in tropical Tahiti. After he finishes breakfast, he goes on his morning walk through the snowy wilderness, and ponders how sad it is that his delicate white skin could never endure the blazing tropical sun of Tahiti, how his dense, downy white fur would turn frizzy and frayed in the heat, how the pads of his feet, so well-adapted to the snow, would blister and fry on the white sand beaches. "Alas!" the white mongoose says to himself as he walks, "It is the plight of mongoose - and monkey! And man, for that matter! - to fixate on exactly that which can never be his!"

One morning, the mongoose gets so lost in his own existential musings, he wanders off his usual path, and becomes disoriented. The wind picks up, the world turns white, and the mongoose stumbles down a snowy ravine. As he stumbles, he hits his head on a rock, and dies.

Imagine that you are visiting this snowy land, and you happen upon this delicate white mongoose, frozen in the snow. Since it's around noon and you haven't packed a proper lunch for yourself, you pull out your trusty pocket knife and cut out the mongoose's liver, which, strangely enough, has a lovely pinkish-orange hue under its transparent white skin.

Take a bite. Mmm, delightful! That's what a mango mochi ball tastes like. And isn't it curious how, as you eat it, you get an exhilarating feeling that anything you want in the world is yours for the taking?

Friday, February 06, 2004

FLAMING FIELDS I'M TOO DUMB TO REFINE

Hey angry little rabbit!

Look what I found of you on the web, while being utterly disappointed by having first to endure the stupid seconds of Powell's ad for a least gratifying text of yours on Salon today, and then having immediately decided to Google you in order to find those fillers from the happy days of our lives (Link to photo deleted by Rabbit).

I thought you look extremely sweet, and cute and motherly and Terry Colon did a lousy job portraying your figure like a 50s housewife. Shame on him! You could have easily had twice the wedding proposals per week, if only people knew the real you. And by the way who's Barry, he looks kinda cute and our birthdays are only one month apart. You think he would be interested in a woman engineer with anger management issues and sarcasm surplus?

But the reason why I am writing is not Barry, or your lousy T-shirt, I mean honestly what were you thinking when you left your house that night? The reason is that I get royally upset that you, a friend from way back, whose writings accompanied me through various European countries and phases of my so called -academic- career, have your talent and energy wasted in front of two TiVos and possibly a plasma TV screen you bi--- eeer beautiful you.

What's the matter with America's economy if it cannot accommodate its universal geek's internet sweetheart to a post that's more becoming? Can't you like comment on pop culture without actually having to watch TV? I mean really, it's such a waste. I think we should all start a campaign , like Free Wynona, only it would read more like Save Heather, or Help Heather for the cheap alliteration thrill or find a way to allude to that Heathers movie where Wynona was playing too. In that we would have you run through various parties with several It du jour Hollywood or what not people and you could comment on exactly how obnoxious they are in your own cute way, after having the real life experience. What do you think? You're with me or you're with me?

Probably not.

Anyhow I remain faithful to you always,

Grusse und Kusse,

D.I.

Dearest D.I.

Let's see now. In one short letter, you managed to

1. Describe me as "motherly"

2. Inquire as to the availability of my boyfriend

3. Cast aspersions on my fashion sense

4. Suggest that I'm wasting my talent and energy on my current job

5. Offer to start a charity to save me from the lamentable path I'm on

6. Refer to me - and my way - as "cute"

Recognizing that my life is far less meaningful and glamorous than that of your average widely-traveled academic, I feel very lucky to have a writing job that pays. Although it surely sounds pedestrian and meek to your cultured ears, I know quite a number of struggling writers who'd lop off their left nuts to get paid a salary to watch TV and write about it. It's not for everyone, but I dig it.

Of course I loved writing Filler, too, and at some point I'm sure I'll write cartoons again. Right now I'm focusing on my job, plus a few short stories and some occasional radio stuff. I don't feel that my writing for Salon is a waste of my talent or a sap on my creative energy. Far from it - my job compliments my other writing and creative pursuits far more than sitting around the house, worrying about how to make ends meet ever did. Of course I have days when I feel like I'm wasting my talents in general - all writers feel that way occasionally - but it's either because I'm procrastinating or because I'm having some kind of a Lizard King, supersized ego day, and that's a spectacle that's neither sweet nor cute, I can assure you.

As for the boyfriend, I can say with great certainty that he's not fond of either anger management issues or surpluses of sarcasm. Luckily, I'm fluffy and sweet and uncomplicated and unsullied by sarcasm, so he loves me more than life itself.